


Happiness

by myhypotheticalromance



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Anxiety, Background Korra/Asami Sato - Freeform, Depression, F/F, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mental Health Issues, Past Korra/Kuvira (Avatar), Past Relationship(s), implied/referenced suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29909685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhypotheticalromance/pseuds/myhypotheticalromance
Summary: This is an exploration of the pain wrought by heartache in conjunction with mental health conditions through the lens of Kuvira's failed relationship with Korra.
Relationships: Korra/Asami Sato, Korra/Kuvira (Avatar)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> this is definitely a change of pace from my normal fics, so readers be warned. i wrote this as a reflection of myself and in the name of catharsis and it's pretty dark. the song 'happiness' by hobo johnson resonated with me and it inspired this fic. 
> 
> in the end notes, you'll find an explanation as to why i wrote this and also please read the tags.

Kuvira heard the sharp ring of a bell from overhead as she stepped in and shook off her umbrella. More than a few of the water droplets that had collected there landed on the smallest part of her exposed skin between her pant leg and her oxfords, dripping down and soaking into the edges of her socks. _Just perfect_ , she thought to herself. She collapsed her umbrella with perhaps a bit more force than necessary and wrangled it back into its nylon casing, then shoving it into her satchel.

She brought a faint trail of water with her on the bottoms of her shoes as she trudged over to the bar, slumping into her usual seat with a sigh. After a bit, the bartender, a familiar woman with long red hair that was tied back, toned arms that were bared by her muscle tee, a gold septum piercing, and a friendly smile strode up to her, but her face dropped slightly when she noticed Kuvira’s expression.

“Yikes, kid. Rough day?”

Kuvira looked up to her and gave her a sardonic smile. “You could say that.”

“You lose a big case or something?”

“Eh, something like that,” she answered. Her case load was pretty much full and her least favorite judge presided in court today, but it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Long days of assembling case reviews, doing half the work for incompetent paralegals, and having to smile sweetly at a judge who had been on the bench decades too long were exhausting, but they didn’t add up to the emptiness in her chest coupled with her profound exhaustion that no amount of sleep would cure.

Kuvira was pulled from her thoughts. “What can I get you? The regular?”

“Please,” Kuvira nodded.

She watched the woman turn away to make a vodka tonic and quickly step back up to set the drink down in front of her. “I’ll keep them coming,” she said to Kuvira before walking away to serve other patrons.

Kuvira took her phone out of her pocket to mindlessly scroll through her email, then the news app on her phone, then even a few social media apps she barely ever pulled up as she played her day back through. Normally she might try to reflect on her day and try to pinpoint and eliminate whatever was haunting enough to land her back here in this bar, but that felt like it might quickly become unproductive.

She was two drinks in and beginning to feel a bit of a buzz when she noticed the noise level rising in the bar as it began to fill up more than it usually d- oh. It’s a Friday night. Of course, it is. Another drink was slid her way as her previous one turned to a watered-down version of what had once been a full glass. “That’s the last one for me, Hunter. Thanks,” she called out. The place had become too crowded for her liking and she knew she’d have to go home to face the emptiness of her apartment at some point.

Just then, she found a younger looking woman with shoulder length brunette hair standing at the bar next to her. She was turned toward Kuvira and obviously had something to say. Her eyes were bright and blue but she seemed… green. The woman looked at her like she was gathering her courage and Kuvira couldn’t help but feel at least a little amused. Why was it that she always seemed to attract younger, wide-eyed women when she looked so stern and _was_ so stern? The woman in front of her almost looked like- no.

The girl looked down at Kuvira’s drink then back up at her face. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but it looks like you’re covered.”

Kuvira nodded, “Indeed.” She waited for her to say more.

“Could I, um… sit here?” she asked. Kuvira gestured for her to take the seat. “I’m Nutha.”

“Kuvira,” she replied with a tepid smile.

Their conversation was light and devoid of substance and it eventually dwindled as the girl’s attempts at flirting were met with an occasional half-hearted chuckle or smile from Kuvira.

“Anyways,” Nutha said, “I won’t occupy any more of your time tonight.” She took out a pen and slid a napkin towards herself that had a faint, damp ring on one side from the bottom of a glass, surely. She wrote on the other sided and handed it to Kuvira. “Here’s my number, though. Call me if you decide you want some… company.”

Kuvira nodded. “Thanks,” she spoke quietly as the girl smiled, then walked away. Kuvira decided she’d probably had enough to drink, and this crowd and volume level was becoming increasingly intolerable as the night wore on. She grabbed her bag and stood to leave but quickly realized that she had underestimated how much the liquor had affected her. Had she had three drinks? Four? Fuck. Regardless, she was in no condition to drive. She brusquely shoved down the shame that bubbled to the surface as she pulled up the rideshare app on her phone.

She waited in the rain for her ride. The cacophony in the bar began to match the loudness of her own thoughts and one of those had to go, so Kuvira determined that the cool rain that soaked through her clothes was the more bearable option of the two. Finally, a black sedan that matched the description on her phone pulled up and she climbed in, cold and wet.

She exchanged pleasantries with the driver, but luckily, he was very receptive to her desire to remain in a reserved silence for the remainder of the drive. As she relaxed into her seat and let her head drop back onto the headrest, she closed her eyes tightly. Immediately, the spinning sensation from the alcohol intensified and her eyes shot open in an attempt to subvert the wave of oncoming nausea.

Clearly, resting her eyes was _not_ the move. She unlocked her phone and having already exhausted any possible productive tasks on her phone while she was at the bar, she went right to social media. As she scrolled through mindlessly, she reflected on her conversation with the girl who had chatted her up earlier that evening.

She seemed interesting and energetic, certainly interested in Kuvira, and she was very pretty, but Kuvira gripped the crumpled napkin in her coat pocket with biting resent. She was too different and yet too familiar and so… _everyone else_.

A venomous idea invaded her stream of consciousness and her thoughts, muddled by alcohol, were helpless to stop it. She typed a name she promised she never would into the search bar and found her profile right away. She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the name on the screen that she knew would set the slow burning ember in her brain ablaze and she did it anyway.

Instantly, her heart dropped through her stomach, seeing her face again if only through a screen. She looked beautiful as ever, Kuvira thought. She swiped through a few photos of her, flashing her bright smile directly at the camera in some, others looked like candids of her laughing or even just existing, emanating perfection. She looked well. She kept scrolling until she found one that managed to sink her heart impossibly lower.

Korra had her arm slung around a beautiful woman. She almost looked a bit like Kuvira - long, raven hair and bright green eyes - but she was taller and had a more slender build, her features were softer. Korra’s lips were pressed to the woman’s cheek and they looked… happy.

Kuvira continued scrolling as she began feeling nauseous, but she was soon stopped. “Miss, we’re here,” she heard the driver say.

She cleared her throat which was surprisingly stiff. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

She entered in her code to unlock the door of the tall building in front of her. She did her best to maintain composure as she found her way to the elevator despite her buzz that bordered on drunkenness and the anxiety summiting in her chest.

The ride up was unbearably slow and Kuvira stomped out the moment it reached her floor. Why the fuck had she chosen to live on one of the top floors?

She uncaringly tossed her bag on the ground. She trudged over to her couch and slumped in on it. Everything inside of her wanted to look up Korra and see her face again, find her number deep within the recesses of her memory and add the long deleted contact back into her phone. And simultaneously, she felt an unhinged rage and disgust at ever having to see Korra with her lips on another woman. Not that it mattered anyway. It was already seared into her memory.

Kuvira felt the beginnings of tears prickling at her eyes and she angrily wiped them away. She knew she never deserved to speak to Korra, even look her way ever again and it was killing her.

She couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to hear her name spoken lovingly on Korra’s lips again, to feel her warmth so close again, to smell the sweet scent of her shampoo when Kuvira holds her close and drowns in her presence again. She couldn’t and yet here she was – imagining her, remembering her.

And it was utterly fucking unbearable.

Kuvira rose from the couch with a start and stumbled into her kitchen. She yanked open the door to the pantry and found the nearest bottle of hard liquor she could. Without hesitation, Kuvira popped off the lid and took a long swig, letting the burning sensation fill her mouth and sear her throat.

She sunk to the floor of her kitchen and tossed her head back onto the cabinet door behind her. She knew this was wrong but she couldn’t do anything else and she _hated_ herself for it. The ache of rising self-loathing in her chest sunk her lower yet.

She sat there on the hard floor and took sip after sip of the burning liquid that burned less and less after each pass. Each time she brought the bottle to her lips, waves of hopelessness and desperation to escape crashed over her head like a tidal wave fighting to drag her deeper with the undertow and what was left floating feebly at the surface was the insidious desire to not be here to see this moment that haunted her – that no amount of booze could wash away.

She felt the alcohol take hold. Her vision blurred and stirrings of nausea faintly ebbed and flowed in her body and the room started spinning and absurdly, the memories that threatened to send her leaping right into a chasm of self-hatred, a grave that she had dug for herself, the same ones that she was frantically trying to chase away with drink - they were present and clear in her mind.

Maybe it was that it was ever-present in her mind no matter how hard she repressed it, maybe it was that this feeling, the profound drunkenness, is reminiscent of that night. That fucking night.

She’d come home drunk and angry at Korra and angry at herself and she slung words like knives at her. One of Kuvira’s skills was knowing just what to say – exactly what to say to cut deep, how to weaponize language. She’d had years of practice, of course. With the others that she’d ushered out of her life. Mostly with herself. She’d promised herself never to do that with Korra, never to hurt her in that way but her ever enduring urge to run from love and need for love was clearly more powerful.

The worst part was - she was wrong, and she knew she was wrong then too but she spoke those words anyway. She shoved Korra out of her life; she annihilated Korra and herself along with it. And when Kuvira was finally sober again, she left her with a letter. A _fucking letter_ on that stupid dining room table that was meant to sit and bear witness to the stupid fights and slow kisses and crying laughter that would fill the home they were meant to share but it never had the chance.

Korra never called or came by her apartment again. Why would she? Kuvira had gotten the job done, she’d broken Korra’s heart. A heart she cared about far more than her own.

Korra was better for it though. Kuvira knew that. They each were right where they belonged. Korra was surely in love with that other girl and Kuvira was broken in the corner like a discarded toy only she was the one that did the breaking. Again.

They say you can’t love someone else until you love yourself and for most people that isn’t true. For her, it is. She’d never stop punishing herself for her mere existence, sabotaging every chance she’d had at love and doing irreparable damage to people along the way. Korra deserved better than that. And Kuvira knew that if she’d let _anyone_ truly see the fucked up person she was, all of her ugliness she hid away from the world, she knew they’d turn her away.

Except that Korra didn’t. Korra knew her. Not all of her, certainly, but she had peered through a crack in Kuvira’s impenetrable walls she’d built to protect her heart and Korra _hadn’t run_. Kuvira so badly had wanted to build a door just for her but instead she’d bound her own hands together using fear and self-loathing as rope.

Korra deserved better than her. And now she had it.

Kuvira knew none of it even had to happen. She knew she’d been drunk, and that she was wrong about Korra; the accusations she’d hurled at her were lies. She knew Korra could have loved her through it anyways. Kuvira was the cause of her own misery and she could barely live with herself. She didn’t want to.

Suddenly, a choked sob forced its way through Kuvira’s lips despite her best attempts to force it back in, to stop herself from unraveling. And once that first one left, the torrent of tears and quiet moans of anguish were unstoppable. The sounds created by ripping out one’s own beating, bloodied heart are strangely familiar; humane, almost. Kuvira rapidly lost the will to control them. Who was she hiding them from anyway, she thought briefly in her addled mind and it almost made her laugh. Who else but her?

She was dizzy with inebriation and so profoundly exhausted from running for so long. She released herself to the fatigue and slumped over onto the kitchen floor and with whatever coherence she had left, she found herself lucky that the sheer extent of her consumption absolved her of waiting for the room to stop spinning before sleep took her.

\---

Kuvira groggily opened her eyes, awoken by the immense pounding in her head, its origin in the alcohol and the insult added by the hardness of the floor beneath her. Her limbs felt heavy, impossibly so, but she found the strength to lift herself off the floor.

Once she swallowed a few aspirin and taken care of the potent nausea she’d felt, Kuvira slowly, diligently removed her clothing and gave herself kindness in the clean, comfortable clothing she chose, then again in the cool water that she splashed on her face. And again, in the steaming water that steeped the tea in her mug that she brought with her to her windowsill.

The bright morning light did little for her aching skull, so Kuvira closed her eyes at first and let the warmth of the sun dance on her skin. Eventually her eyes adjusted, and she opened them again to observe the easy clouds like waves that adorned the morning sky. She found this moment curious: waking up and standing here now. She was neither expecting it nor surprised by it, she didn’t scorn it nor bow to it. It was just there, and so was she. She stood a moment longer.

She thought to retrieve her phone from the bag still slumped on the ground. She sat at her couch and scrolled through old messages until she found the conversation she was looking for. She breathed deeply and let her thumbs glide across the screen.

_Hey, Lin. Last night was another really bad one._

Not too much later, her phone buzzed on the table in front of her.

**_I’m sorry to hear that, Kuvira. Would you like to come see me at my office? I have some availability later today if you’d like._ **

_That sounds good, Lin. Thank you._

Kuvira closed her eyes and let her lungs fill with air, followed by a deep exhale, in, then out again, and again, and again.

**Author's Note:**

> as i stated above, i wrote this as an act of catharsis and it was inspired by two things, one obviously being the song referenced by the name of this fic - which, if you haven't listened to it, the song might give some clarity - and secondly, by the fic "you know you'd look good in my hand" by @goldfyshie927. the fic is absolutely incredible if you have somehow found this but not read that i highly recommend it, but i found myself feeling really upset by the ending, which has absolutely nothing to do with her incredible writing and everything to do with me. i realized that i identify with kuvira's character and it was painful for me to read about a happy ending that i just haven't had yet. sometimes you fuck up and you can't fix it. my story is reflected in this one and if somehow you're reading this and you find yourself reflected too, know that you're not alone. some lessons are hard learned, but i'm learning to do better and be better and i hope you are too. it gets better, kids


End file.
